Chains
by jdog16
Summary: A drastic change of scenery can be a shock for anyone. How well such a shock can be withstood by an individual, however, is somewhat less assured. Rated T for graphic descriptions and swearing.
1. Hunters and Hunted

Greetings dear readers, and welcome to my humble story!

For the curious who looked in this section out of sheer curiosity, Two Kinds is an online webcomic written and illustrated by one Tom Fischbach of Cincinnati Ohio. The site can be found at 2kinds dot com (can't make a link), and I highly recommend it for anyone looking for a well written and well drawn comic. The site's contents are of a Web-14 rating.

That being said, the world and characters of Two Kinds are all copyrighted to Tom Fischbach. I'm simply an obsessive fan with an urge to write something.

And for those fans of my Ratchet and Clank story, I haven't left it by the wayside, and will write more of it whenever ideas for it float into my head.

So, Chapter 1 - Hunters and Hunted

* * *

Dranz of the Si'Lin clan crept through the thick foliage of his wooded homeland, silently stalking a large boar through the forest, a spear clutched tightly in his clawed hand. The tiger Keidran stood at a mere fifteen palms high when standing straight up, though his slight frame was toned and muscular by years of hunting and physical labor for the good of his village. With winter fast approaching and food supplies beginning to dwindle, eight year old Dranz, as well as the rest of the fit males in his village, had gone out to hunt for wild game to bring back to the store houses in preparation for the bitter cold. 

As per custom of most Keidran, Dranz wore no clothing; clothes were not only uncomfortable to his kind, due to their thick fur coats, but they also hindered movement, making difficult tasks such as hunting stealthily all the more so.

Suddenly, the boar stopped, snout held high to test the air for strange aromas. Dranz froze in his tracks, pointed ears lying flat, praying to the gods that the wind wouldn't shift in direction. Whether it was his prayers or just luck, the large game animal seemed satisfied with its inspection, and proceeded to nibble on a patch of grass poking through the thin layer of dry leaves that covered the forest floor.

Taking care to avoid twigs and disguising his movements in the howl of the autumn wind, the Keidran edged ever closer to his prey, until he was able to hear the soft snorting the boar produced as it devoured its meal. In one fluid motion, Dranz raised the pole-arm above his shoulder and heaved it forward with all his strength, sending it whistling through the air directly at the boar. In an instant the weapon closed the distance and pierced the animal's thick hide, sinking deep into its innards and causing the wound to gush blood. The boar thrashed about madly in pain and shock, seeking to extricate the offending object from its body. Its efforts, however, simply drove the weapon in deeper, piercing more organs and freeing more blood from its veins.

After thirty seconds of loud thrashing and desperate cries, the animal fell to the ground, beaten and exhausted. Seconds later, its torso ceased the regular rise and fall of breath. It was dead.

Dranz stood and strode over to inspect the kill, removing the bloodied spear from the boar and wiping it off on the animal's hide. Smiling, he offered a small prayer to the gods and removed the animal hide sack he carried on his back. From it, he took a section of rope woven from from plant fiber and tied it twice around the boar's midsection, once near the hind legs and once near the front legs. After making sure the knots were secure, he grabbed hold of the rope and began the arduous task of hauling the animal back to his village.

* * *

A comforting air surrounded Dranz as he approached his home. Even from this distance he could smell the welcoming scents of meat being smoked over bonfires, and hear the general sounds of busy life. The village was located on the outskirts of Keidran territory, about a mile from the forest's edge. Amazingly, the humans did not seem to know that it existed, despite the close proximity of a large human city, for they would have surely sent a raiding party by now to gather supplies and slaves to be traded. 

It didn't matter how or why though. The humans left Dranz and his people alone, for the time being at least, so he put the thoughts aside and focused on hauling his catch back home to be cleaned and smoked.

After ten more minutes of hiking through the forest, the village came into view over the top of a hill; several dozen thatched huts and wooden lodges occupied a clearing in the otherwise thick woods. Smoke rose from numerous bonfires, and sharp clanging sounds emanated from the local blacksmith's shop as he fashioned spears for hunting and axes for chopping wood. Children dashed about at play, giggling as they yanked on each other's tails and tackled each other to the ground, driving dead leaves, pine needles and dirt into their fur.

The parents of said children hurried about the village, preparing themselves and their homes for the winter months; several families were building up mounds of earth around their homes, a measure to keep warm air trapped inside. Others were making cuts of animal hide into various foot coverings, sections of light leather armor, and heavy winter clothing. Though it is true that most Keidran may disdain the use of clothes, they knew that some situations demand its use, and attempted to make it as comfortable as possible while still being practical, though the young ones were always difficult to persuade.

Dranz made his way through the village's bustling inhabitants, being careful not to get in the way of anyone's work. Several familiar faces greeted him as he passed; he waved back and smiled in return.

Eventually, he made it to his family's home, a mid-size rectangular wooden lodge. Homes such as this were reserved for families of higher status, due to the amount of time and intensive labor that was required to construct them. Most Keidran in the village lived in simple thatched or earthen huts; much simpler to construct, but also smaller and less solidly built.

The interior of Dranz's home was divided into two rooms; one for cooking and general living, and the other for sleeping. The floor of the building was kept earthen, a measure used to preserve the claws on its occupant's toes. In the middle of the living room was a large fire pit made of molded bricks, filled with soot from the previous night's fire. A rack of various metal tools hung on the wall; a spade, a long knife, and an exquisitely crafted steel sword, all skillfully made by hand. Next to the fire pit was a large iron basin, used as a surface to skin and clean animals caught during hunting expeditions.

Dranz hauled his catch higher and carried it over to the basin, carefully setting it down. After untying the ropes and placing them back into the sack he carried, he walked over to the tool rack hanging on the wall and removed the long knife, examining its edges to make sure that it was razor sharp. He picked up a small piece of parchment and ran the knife lengthwise down the center; the parchment split cleanly into two halves, one fluttering slowly to the floor.

Satisfied, the young Keidran knelt over the dead boar, carefully puncturing a small hole in its hide with the knife, and slowly sliding the implement into the hole while trying to avoid tearing it. With cautious sideways sliding motions, the knife blade slowly began to separate the boar's skin from the rest of it.

Sudden, rapid footsteps sounded behind Dranz. Instinctively, he drew his knife out of the boar and spun to meet his attacker, only to be met by the glint of cold steel; a sword was leveled at his throat, the very sword from the tool rack he had taken the knife from.

"Hmm," snickered the sword's wielder, "Your reaction time seems to be slipping, Dranz."

Dranz cracked a grudging smile, "Hello, Valen. I see you've still not tired of catching me off guard at every possible opportunity."

Valen lifted the blade and placed the flat on his shoulder, "Nor will I ever, brother," he said, smiling broadly.

Valen was a full two palms higher than his younger brother, and well as three years older. Since he turned four he had been training to be a soldier in the army of the Tiger Tribe, and planned to travel south to the tribe's capitol city when he reached the age of thirteen. His life of military training was reflected in his highly muscular physique, built throughout years of lessons in swordplay and survival.

The older Keidran knelt down to examine Dranz's kill. "A fine specimen, little brother," he said, "Did you slay it yourself?"

"And hauled it back here," added Dranz.

Valen looked impressed, "Well done, Dranz," he said, slapping his brother's shoulder, "It should provide at least a week's worth of food for the winter."

He stood, "Anyway, before I forget, father requested that I come and get you. He says he needs you to perform a task for him. I can finish skinning this boar for you."

"Very well," replied the younger Keidran, handing Valen the long knife.

As Dranz was about to leave, his brother caught him by the shoulder.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said, offering the sword's leather-wrapped pommel to Dranz, "He says you should take this."

The young Keidran gave his brother a puzzled look, but took the weapon anyway, holding it up as beams of sunlight scattered off its angled surfaces. The blade was nearly nine palms in length, with razor sharp edges and a tip finely crafted to a perfectly tapered point. Two symmetrical metal handguards signified where the blade ended and the hilt began, the latter of which had a core of hard oak wood and a wrapping of leather to ensure comfort to the wielder. The hilt, which allowed room for the use of two hands if the wielder so desired, was topped with a flawless blue gemstone, which gleamed and sparkled magnificently in the daylight. If one looked closely, one could sense a strange quality in the jewel; something ethereal and unearthly. Despite the sword's unnatural aura, Dranz always felt exceedingly confidant when he wielded it, like it somehow belonged in his hands.

He knew better though, as Valen had always been the one striving to live the military life; ultimately, the sword would be passed from father to him, so Dranz did his best to detach himself from that feeling of belonging that began to encompass him as the gripped the weapon tightly.

"You should go quickly," urged Valen, "Father seemed anxious when he last spoke to me."

* * *

End of chapter one. I hope you guys enjoyed it. 


	2. Conflagration

Chapter 2 - Conflagration

* * *

Dranze plodded heavily through the dense forest surrounding his home, heading south toward a neigboring keidran village. On his back he carried a tall quiver-like case containing fifteen shortspears, each handcrafted by his father, Altair, and carrying the sword Valen had given him on a leather belt hanging loosly around his waist. He replayed the short conversation in his head once again. 

_"Lately, there has been much worry among the surrounding villages concerning the human city to the north," _his father had told him,_ "Many have noticed strange lights emanating from it, and some even believe that the Templar may be constructing one of their Towers there."_

Altair lowered his gaze and stood considering for a moment, gingerly holding a small gold pendant and chain in his palm, once a gift to a mate long dead. Years of forging weapons and wares in a blistering furnace had sculpted his musculature and honed his dexterity, making him one of the most skilled smiths in the forest. A tall man, he wore heavy leather clothing and gloves made from boar hide, a necessity when working with red-hot metals.

He looked up at Dranz again, _"The chieftan of a village to the south feels that the humans may attack, and has requested arms for defense."_

He indicated a container with fifteen small spears inside leaned against the wall to the right.

_"Why would the humans attack us now? We've done nothing to them,"_ asked Dranz, cocking his head slightly.

Altair turned slowly _and_ gazed out a window facing north, looking pensive, _"The Templar are not like the human's we are familiar with. They are unwilling to share territory with the likes of us. Worse, their influence spreads to those around them, like an infection, and soon an entire city is ready to take up arms in support of the Templar's whims."_

He met his son's gaze once more, _"Our neigbors feel conflict with the humans is inevitable, and I need you to get these weapons to them," _He handed Dranz a map of the forest, a small x indicating a village several miles to the south.

The younger keidran studied the map for a moment, and said, _"Very well, I'll get these spears to them,"_ he slipped on the container's shoulder strap, and turned to walk out the door.

He stopped, _"Father?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"What do you think the humans will do?"_

There was an expectant pause. Eventually, the older keidran said, _"I can't surely say. I just hope we're prepared if the worst comes to pass."_

And with that, Dranz turned slowly and left, adjusting the case on his back to a more comfortable position.

Emerging from his recolection, Dranz considered what his father had told him. What would happen if the humans did indeed attack? What would happen to the village? To the whole area? Would the surrounding keidran settlements be prepared for such an onslaught? The questions buzzed through his head over and over again, yet no answers came to quell them. He was left with an anxious knot in the pit of his stomach.

Trying to focus on something else, he glanced around the area, taking in the scenery: the ground was covered in a lush carpet of grasses and shrubs, and tall oaks towered above everything, throwing alternating shadows and beams of light over everything. The entire scene was quite relaxing. Dranz took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, feeling the knot loosen just a little.

He looked over his shoulder toward the sky, and immediately froze. The spears he carried dropped to the ground, unnoticed, and he swore he felt his heart stop. A thick column of acrid smoke hung in the sky to the north, emanating from where he had been no more than two hours ago.

* * *

Dranz sprinted feverishly through the forest, fueled by pure adrenaline and barely feeling his feet touch the ground. Through the leaf-thick canopy, he could see plumes of thick black smoke cutting through the otherwise clear sky, an omen emanating from the direction of his home village. Terrible images raced through his mind, postulates of what he would find, each flashing its hideous face for a mere moment before giving way to even greater horrors. 

He did his best to suppress his imagination and continued the frantic race to his village. _"Someone must still be there,"_ he thought, clinging to the hope with all his strength, _"Valen and father are skilled warriors, they **have **to be alive!"_

At last, he came to the crest of a hill overlooking the village clearing. Gazing at the scene before him, all hope in him shattered like glass, the shards tickling somberly in his ears; not a single building was left standing, most set ablaze and reduced to nothing more than smoldering piles of cinders and empty, blackened husks of what they once were. Pitch dark smoke poured from the ruined structures, creating a plume of death that could be seen for miles.

Dranz felt a strange numbness overcome him. The scene was so surreal; he'd heard tales of such atrocities committed by the humans from those few travelers who passed through the village, but it had always seemed so distant, so impossible that it could actually occur anywhere nearby, let alone here. Such catastrophes belonged in the realm of dreams and legends, yet it was painfully real, a nightmare sprung from slumber to wreak havoc on the waking world

Almost autonomously, he trudged down the slope, once again breaking into a run as he reached the bottom. Countless acrid smells assaulted his nostrils, forcing him to gag and break into fits of coughing. A closer proximity to the scene did nothing to restore any semblance of hope; nothing moved save for a few remaining fires flickering in the wind. Small craters pitted the ground in several places, still smoldering from the heat of the explosions that carved them.

And then there were the bodies, countless numbers on them, broken, lying in the dirt with joints bent at unnatural angles. Most were people from his village, faces he recognized and knew. Interspersed among them was an occasional human, some wearing chain shirts and others still clutching swords and daggers in their cold hands. It was a scene of carnage; some of the dead missing limbs, others with their abdomens' split and entrails dangling out. Still others had been run through with blades, killed by a single stab wound in which the fatal weapon still resided, their blood pooling beneath their fallen forms. However, the most disturbing of these were the ones who's identity he could not decipher, for they had been rendered completely unrecognizable by burns, flesh blackened and peeling, bones exposed. These victims were so mutilated that even their race could not be identified; whether they had been human or keidran would never be known.

Dranz fell to his knees, shaking violently, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He felt an upwelling in his throat, and vomited, the sickening odor of mutilated and charred corpses overpowering his senses. He felt light-headed, and his mind buzzed with a mix of guilt and despair.

_"I should have been here,"_ he thought despondantly, _"I could have helped fight, could have done something." _

Moving numbly through the ruins, he came to what was left of his father's workshop; inumerable scorch marks scarred what was left of the walls, and the entire roof had caved in, frorming a pile of charred rubble. Instinctively, he began to dig through the debris, shifting chunks of brick and wood frenetically. He dreaded what could be underneath, but at the the same time he couldn't leave without finding out.

Grunting with effort, Dranz threw off a fragment of roof, and simply stared at what lay under it. A wave of sickening horror flooded him, and he toppled backward onto the ground, scrambling away from the scene and breathing in short, irregular gasps: concealed beneath that fragmet of roof were two charred corpses, burned beyond recognition like countless others. The only hint to their identity was a small, half-melted gold pendant around the neck of the taller victim, glinting in the sunlight seeping through the canopy.

Nothing was left anymore. The entire world had gone up in flames. And here he stood among the ashes, hopeless, aimless, and desolate.

Suddenly, Dranz spotted movement out of the corner of his eye; one of the bodies was moving. Breathlessly, the young keidran came to his feet, legs quaking beneath him, moving to investigate what he'd seen.

To his dismay, the survivor was human, clad in a chain shirt over soft leather clothing. A long slash ran down the length of his left leg, and his face was covered with various cuts and abrasions. His helmet lay on the ground about five feet away from him, exposing a bloody lump on his head poking through a tangle of short brown hair.

The man gestured to Dranz, trying to garner his assistance, gasping out words in a language the keidran could not understand. Dranz simply stood, looking and the pitiful man lying before him.

_"Humans," _whispered a voice in his ear, _"They did this. None of the fault belongs with you; all of it rests with **his** kind."_

Dranz's hand gripped his sword's pommel tighter. The human gestured more insistently, apparently frustrated.

_"Just look,"_ the voice continued, _"it's all gone. Your village; destroyed. Your friends: slaughtered in their homes in cold blood. All by humans."_

The young keidran suddenly felt a hot sensation in the pit of his stomach, working its way upward as if traveling through his bloodstream, engulfing the emptiness created by the disaster before him. The despair and sadness vanished, replaced with an increasingly intense feeling of revulsion at the pleading figure before him. Still he stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the human, who was shouting now.

_"Kill him,"_ barked the voice with finality, hungry for blood, _"Kill all of them, as they did here, as they killed your friends and loved ones, without mercy or regret."_

Within each keidran's psyche, therein lay a terrible fate. When a keidran becomes emotionally overwhelmed, when they could not contain their baser desires, these instincts burst their floodgates suddenly and disastrously, wiping aside any semblance of rational thought, all traces of reasonability. Any keidran afflicted with this becomes little more than a savage beast, attacking others on sight and living by pure instinct. Such an unfortunate creature is only referred to as a Feral, pitied by its former people, feared by humans, who tell stories of Ferals rending entire families to pieces completely unprovoked.

For an instant, Dranz felt what was happening to him, and a wave of icy fear passed through, chilling him to the bone before being boiled away by the cascade of hate and rage that followed. It was like nothing he had felt before, a hatred so deep and pervasive that it surpassed all reason, but this was no longer of any consequence to him. He craved but one thing now; the blood of humans, the ones who had wronged him so, the ones who had taken everything he had cared for and set it aflame simply to watch it burn.

An instant later, Dranz felt his right arm shoot forward, propelling the blade clutched in his hand through the helpless human's stomach. The victim emitted a strangled yelp as the sword pierced his torso, eye's dialating in shock and color draining from his face.

Before the soldier could make another sound, Dranz twisted the blade and wrenched it from its victim, causing a spray of blood to fly from the weapon, flecking the keidran's fur with dark crimson spots. The human lay gasping if the ground, blood oozing from his fresh wound and leaking from the corners of his mouth. Seconds later, his eyes glazing over, he quit breathing and lay still.

Dranz thought nothing of it. He simply stood straight up and ran into the forest upwind of the village, in order to escape the overpowering odors it contained. Once there, he tested the air for any scent that was similar to the soldier he'd just killed.

He quickly discovered one; a large group of humans had moved north from the village, back toward their territory. The trail was no more than a hour old, and such a gathering could only move so fast in this terrain. Dranz sprinted after them singlemindedly, bounding on all fours and allowing the blade to fall from his hand; the weapon pierced the ground and stood straight up, momentarily resembling a solitary monument before leaning to the side and falling into the dirt and ash.

* * *

"C'mon, move your sorry hides!" someone shouted, "The faster you beasts move the fewer lashings you'll need to take!" 

The battered keidran being addressed couldn't understand of course, and continued to trudge along at a slow pace, some stumbling occasionally. All thirty-two of them had their hands shackled behind their backs, and were all fastened together in one single file line with thick ropes and timbers.

They were all that remained of a small village just to the south, all others dead or lost. The humans had attacked swiftly and without warning, giving no time for the keidran to prepare. In moments, nearly the entire village was a smoking ruin, and most of it's residents lay dead or dying upon the earth.

"Ah, these things are just slowing us down, sir. Can't we just get rid of 'em?" the same man said to the Templar on his right, grinning deviously, "Some of the greenhorns still need a bit of practice."

"No, Captain, we're keeping them," responded the hooded Templar, goading the horse he rode forward with his bootheel, "If we get rid of them, this whole expedition will have been for naught. Besides, several of my best slaves have recently caught plague somehow. It would be more practical to simply find replacements for them; clerics are far too expensive these days."

"Of course, Master Calder," returned the Captain, turning to face forward once again.

After another hour of marching, the forest's edge became visible, and the trees began to thin, giving way to fields of tall grass and various shrubs. In the distance, a small human city appeared; it was a fishing community on the edge of the sea, complete with a newly constructed Mana Tower standing in the center and dwarfing all the surrounding buildings. Its energy core shone a bright blue at the pinnacle, hinting at the power it contained. Calder beckoned to a nearby soldier.

"Yes, sir?" said the man, giving a salute.

"Go into town and inform the guard captain of our return. Have them prepare cages for our spoils," Calder ordered curtley, indicating the captive keidran. With that, the man gave another quick salute and hurried off to deliver his message.

No sooner than thirty seconds after the messenger left for the city, the sounds of a struggle could be heard in the direction he'd gone; feral growls and shrieks of pain filled the air a short distance away, but the tall grass enveloped whatever was causing it. Then, as suddenly as they came, the sounds stopped, giving way to an expectant silence.

Calder jumped down from his mount, signaling for a group of three soldiers to follow him. A tall man, the Templar wore tradional mage robes, with the ceremonial blue Tri-Linear Circle emblazoned on the right chest area. A jewel-encrusted sword and scabbard hung from a belt on his waist, glinting in the fading sunlight.

The four men moved carfully toward the spot from which the sounds had come, swords at the ready. Ahead they saw a section of land where the grass parted, indicating that something was lying on the ground, pushing the brush aside.

Inside the indentation lay the messenger, barely recognizable. His face was literally covered in angry gashes oozing blood all over his face, staining the ground below crimison as it followed gravity's pull. His breathing was labored and shallow, and red bubbles could be seen emerging from his mouth as his lungs exhaled through the thick liquid.

"Get him to the city," Calder said, gesturing at the messenger, "Take him to the Tower and get him some help. Be wary of anything suspicious."

The three accompanying soldiers quickly acknowledged the order, though looking slightly aghast, and lifted the injured man off the ground, making toward the city with as much haste as they could muster.

Alone now, Calder intended to find the assailant. He kneeled and placed his left hand on the ground, instantly feeling the Mana energy begin to flow through him as he called it from the earth. Then he began to shape it, like an artist with a lump of clay, molding it to his whims through sheer force of will. Invisible ropes of magic began to take shape around him, like the creepers of a vine, sprouting from his body unseen, yet tangible.

With another small impulse of willpower, the vines spread out from the Templar in all directions, searching, groping through the grassland with singleminded intent.

At that moment, a figure dashed out from the grass at blinding speed, charging at the mage and snarling viciously, claws raised and ready to strike.

Calder's ethereal cords responded instantly, snapping back to defend their master and stopping the attacking keidran in its tracks. It hung immobile in midstep, struggling futily at the magic binding it and snarling in frustration and confusion.

The Templar stood from the ground and considered his captive. Clearly, the beast had become feral; no spark of rationality remained in it, just blind rage and bloodlust.

"So, you're the one who assaulted my messenger, are you?" Calder said, noticing the blood dripping from the attacker's claws. The keidran kept struggling against its bonds.

"No need for that, you know," the Templar continued, "Strength should not be wasted on that which is immovable."

The tiger continued writhing fruitlessly.

Calder grinned, "Well, I believe all that energy of yours should be put to better use."

The human raised his hand to the keidran's face, called his magic to bear, and forced it through his palm.

All struggling ceased when the keidran's head snapped backwards as if it had been hit with a heavy stone, knocking it unconsious. Its body became limp against the cords binding it as its muscles relaxed, and Calder removed them, allowing the keidran's torpid form the fall to the ground.

The Templar called several soldiers over to retrieve the new captive. "Careful with this one," he told them, "I have plans for it when we arrive in Athkatla."

* * *

End of chapter 2. Hope it was worth the wait. 


	3. Confinement

Chapter 3 - Confinement

* * *

Master Templar Drey Calder stood in his slave quarters, considering the occupant of the cell in front of him. The mage had initially served under the legendary Grand Templar Trace Legacy, but, after Trace's mysterious disappearance several months ago, he'd decided to pursue more personal interests, and chartered the construction of a new Tower here in Athkatla while the Templar hierarchy was still leaderless and in disarray, breaking away from the main Templar body and taking several dozen followers with him. Construction went smoothly, and soon, the Tower was complete. There was some public disagreement, led by several individuals who saw the construction of Calder's Tower as a grab for individual power, but the Templar quickly saw to it that they were silenced. The people had been quite passive since then, though rumors of an underground resistance continued to buzz around him like a gnat he couldn't swat. 

Now, with a solid seat of power distant from the main Templar dominion and his own small, yet fearsome, private military, Calder had turned the city of Athkatla into a fortress city-state, expanding its borders and establishing profitable overseas trade routes. His army led several raids on the keidran territory just to the south, bringing back both resources and slaves to be put to work on the docks and farms. Instead of re-taking the territory, the new Grand Templar decided to allow Calder to keep his city, viewing it as a buffer zone against the increasingly hostile keidran nations. The King had no dissentions.

Over six feet tall, Calder himself was an imposing man. His black hair was cut short and often looked unkempt, sticking out in random spots. Though not especially talented, his fifteen years in the Templar Order had given him much experience in the magical arts. His skills, combined with his ambition, had served him well in the last few months.

Suddenly, the keidran inside the cell began to stir, rustling the hay-covered floor beneath it. It looked around in confusion, hand rubbing the back of its head. Calder smiled. His spells had succeeded in pulling the keidran out of its maddened state, and it simply sat there, disoriented.

"Hello," the Templar called in keidran, grinning.

The keidran looked around a few more times, then looked directly at him. It stood up clumsily and grabbed hold of the bars of the cell, yelling, "Where am I? Who the hell are you?!"

"My name is of no consequence right now, since you'll be calling me 'master' from here on in," responded Calder, "As for where you are, you're in my slave quarters. I hope they've given you a comfortable rest."

The keidran slammed his fist against the bars, "Bastard! _You're_ the one who attacked my home aren't you?! The one who killed-."

It quit speaking as Calder raised his hand, encircling the other's throat with shimmering blue chords of magic. The keidran clawed uselessly at the air around its neck, trying to escape.

"Well, that kind of behaviour is quite unbecoming for a slave," the Templar said through gritted teeth. He flexed the fingers of his outstretched hand, and the cords constricting the keidran's throat migrated to its wrists and ankles, holding it immobile in the air.

Calder flicked his wrist, and the slave floated toward him until they were less than three palms from each other, face-to-face.

"Usually, I just place a control spell over my slaves; they'll just serve without question until the energies of the tower permanently indoctrinate them," he continued with a mocking grin, "I think I'll forgo that method in favor of the more entertaining one; I'll break you myself. I won't suppress you're will; it's unsatisfying. Instead I'll shatter it into a million pieces."

He flicked his wrist again, and the keidran moved a short distance away from him. A luminescent blue whip materialized in his hand.

"And here's the first step in the process!"

Suddenly, the keidran spun halfway around, and Calder swung the lash.

The translucent whip cut through the air in an instant, slashing across the keidran's shoulder blades with a sharp _crack_. Its back arched painfully, and its head snapped up, mouth open in a silent scream and eyes clenched shut tightly. Small streams of blood ran down from the wound, dripping onto the stone floor.

The whip cracked again, and a second wound appeared, following the spine. The keidran seemed to regain its voice, emitting strangled cries of pain between labored gasps.

Another _crack_, followed by more cries of pain.

Ather several more lashes, and the keidran fell limp in its bonds, the pain overcoming it.

The whip disappeared from Calder's grasp. He raised his hand again, and his captive began to gravitate toward its cell, but then the Templar stopped.

"Hmm. I think I'll put this one with the other. I bet he'll appreciate the company."

He moved down the length of the building to the last cell on his left, then unlocked the gate and threw it open, startling the sleeping figure laying in the back corner.

Calder took no notice of it, and casually tossed the tiger into the cell with a flick of his wrist, where it lay face down and bloodstained.

Without a word, he re-locked the gate and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

Flashing colors and fleeting shapes danced in front of Dranz's eyes as his consciousness slowly returned. He forced his heavy eyelids open, finding himself lying face-down in the darkness, on a floor that felt like it was covered with straw. His thoughts felt sluggish and disorganized, and he fought to dissipate the haze permeating his mind. Shaking his head in a effort to focus, he glanced upward, revealing a cracked ceiling through which moonlight seeped. He followed the beams of light down until he could see the glint of metal, produced by a heavy iron bar intersecting the light. His eyes adjusting to the dark, he could now see numerous other bars, forming a wall that enclosed him inside a small room. A heavy padlock sealed a small gate on the bars, obstructing the one way of escape. 

Placing his palms on the ground, Dranz forced himself from the floor. Instantly, he felt something tear on his back, followed by a flash of blinding pain. A gasp escaped his throat and the strength fled his arms, allowing the body they supported to fall back to the floor, defeated. The fiery agony subsided, replaced with a dull throbbing pain that spiked with every beat of his heart. He ran a hand along his back, feeling hard, crisscrossing lines of coagulated blood, long scabs covering woulds inflicted by the lashing he had endured. One of them had been ripped halfway from his skin, wrenched off by his sudden attempt to rise. Blood flowed in small rivulets from the freshly opened laceration, staining the white fur on his palm a dark crimson.

"You really should not try to move too much," said a soft voice from the back of the room, "You need to rest and give time for your wounds to heal."

Dranz's ears perked at the sound, and he craned his neck to the left, attempting to see behind him without moving the rest of his body. Through the gloom surrounding him, he could see a figure sitting in the far left corner of the room, legs drawn up and arms hugging its knees.

"Who's there?" he called into the darkness, the sound reverberating off the cell's nearly bare walls.

After a tense silence, the figure gracefully rose to a stand, feet rustling the dry material covering the floor. Slowly, it began walking toward him. Dranz kept his gaze constantly rising, fixed on the silhouette's head as it approached. The figure strode into the stream of moonlight pouring from the crack in the roof.

Before him stood a fox keidran girl, slightly shorter than he, staring down at him with eyes that were reminiscent of dark jewels; entrancing, but revealing nothing of what lay beyond them, and her expression showed just as little. She carried a solemn aura with her, like someone who had recently attended the scattering of a friend's ashes. She wore what looked like a worn cloth sack, extending from her shoulders down to the middle of her upper legs. The dark red-orange fur of her arms transitioned to coal-black as it approached her hands, which she kept folded neatly in front of her. Her posture suggested that she had been carved of living stone; she stood completely straight with no signs of slouching, and even her tail remained completely motionless, lacking even the smallest involuntary twitch.

She remained completely silent as she knelled to examine Dranz's re-opened wound, placing her fingers on his back for reference. The tiger keidran gritted his teeth, feeling the pressure induce small spikes of pain.

"This gash will need fresh bandages," the girl said, finally breaking the silence with a voice barely louder than a whisper, "Don't move."

She stood again, this time striding over to the room's right wall. After a moment of rummaging through a small, half-rotted wooden cabinet, she returned to Dranz's side, holding a roll of thin white cloth, which didn't exactly look clean.

Without another word, the girl knelled again, unraveled a length of cloth and tore it off, placing the roll onto the floor next to her. She carefully laid the strip of fabric onto the still bleeding wound on the tiger keidran's back; the blood quickly soaked into the white cloth, staining it dark red. Dranz screwed up his face, taking a deep breath.

He exhaled by speaking. "You still did not answer my question," he said, "Who are you?"

The girl met his gaze squarely, attempting to discern as much about him as she could. She blinked slowly, "I am called Mira here," she said simply, "Master Calder says he finds it cute."

"I don't care about the reasons that bastard gave you a _human_ name," declared Dranz, hissing the word as though it were a curse, "What is your birth name? The one given to you by your mother and father."

She continued to hold her gaze. Dranz felt as if those dark eyes were boring into him.

"I can no longer remember it," she said thoughtfully, "It has been too long since I could use it."

She blinked again, "What is yours?"

"My name is Dranz," responded the other keidran, "I lived in forest south of here until that beast you call 'Master' wiped out my village." The rage in his voice was palpable, the words rolling off his tongue like a boulder down a mountainside.

Mira listened intently, dissecting his tone and body language.

She looked down and lowered her eyelids, "So, he did not put a control spell upon you?"

Dranz adjusted his arms beneath him, propping his torso up slightly, "No. He says he wants to break me himself; to destroy my will instead of simply suppress it," he grimaced as if he'd eaten something rotten, "I'll die before that happens."

Mira lowered her gaze further, nearly looking straight down at the floor.

"Don't," she said, quieter than ever, the word lacking any sort of inflection.

Dranz threw a puzzled glance at her, "Don't what?"

"Don't try to resist," she said, "I have... seen this happen before. He'll put you through the worst tortures imaginable, and force you to live through them. He will not allow you to die." Dranz opened his mouth to argue, but the fox keidran cut him off, "No, please just listen. Simply do as you are told, do not refuse any order he gives you or attempt to escape," her voice remained steady as she spoke, any variation in tone unnoticeable, "Please, you must trust me."

Dranz stared incredulously. Was she asking him to simply lay down and allow himself to be trodden on? After all Calder had done to him? He could not allow such a thing; the Templar had already gotten away with enough, and Dranz would not allow himself to suffer such an injustice. He'd fight back, and he'd fight with all his strength.

Mira looked at him pleadingly. She seemed to notice the fire in the tiger keidran's eyes.

"Please, consider it," she said, standing up, "I will leave you to rest for the night. You need sleep to recuperate." She walked back over to her corner, where a thin cot was spread upon the floor. Using her hands for a pillow, she lay down sideways on the cot, facing the cell's back wall.

"Sleep well," she said.

Dranz grumbled a response and lowered himself back to the floor. Sleep that night was fleeting and restless, images of recent events refusing to give him peace.

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And so ends chapter 3. Sorry if it's a bit shorter than my last one. 

Hope you enjoyed it.


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